Briet of Sonderland
by Kaleigh T
Summary: Halt, younger and (not really much) kinder, finds a stranger badly wounded on his doorstep. She's shrouded in mystery, covered in dirt and blood, and possibly ruder than Halt himself. The next day, she's gone. How will he react seeing her again, thirteen years later? What's more, she remembers nothing of him or the Ranger Corps. AU for the whole story. Spoilers. Rating may change.
1. Prologue

A/N: This arc I created out of my own mind is completely and utterly an AU. It's also kind of pathetically self-serving, but no one asked about that. So yes, I've removed Will from the picture (Sorry, Will!) and inserted a different apprentice because I felt like it, and even though I love Will dearly I wanted to see how things would work with someone who had more experience, and wasn't nearly as childish. (Again, sorry, Will!) So, enter Briet of Sonderland, and her spin on the classic memory-loss cliche. And Halt can come along for the ride too, because I sorely wished he'd get more angst, particularly in his love life (There was just so much potential ;-;). So bye to Pauline too. And that's where the self-serving bit comes in: I desperately want an apprenticexcraftmaster fanfiction. So, I made one. But the main focus is on the storyline, which I will be mucking with as well. Oh, yeah, and I closed the age gap a little, so Halt is a little younger and the apprentice is a little older (not giving exact ages because IDC as long as it's not TOO big of an age gap). I think that's about it, so have fun.

She'd shown up out of the forest, suddenly- A figure swaying on their feet, covered in dirt and bleeding heavily from a gash along the ribcage.

He broke two of his own rules by saving her life.

One, always think first, then act.

Two, nothing drastic happens before morning coffee.

Halt prided himself on being exceptionally cold, but even he couldn't stand and watch a woman bleed to death on his doorstep. And so, he half-carried, half-dragged her into the spare bedroom. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized the sheets would get covered in blood, but the thought was lost when the stranger gave a dry, racking cough.

"Thank you," She rasped hoarsely, and he only nodded in response.

She fell asleep minutes after- "sleep" was too tame of a word, even with only minor medical training Halt could tell she was suffering from, at the very least, shock, as well as minor blood loss. The damp cloth he was using to clean her was soaked crimson, as was her simple woolen shirt and the makeshift bandages he had cut away from the wound.

Three basinfuls of water and one rough stitching job later, he'd managed to temporarily stop the bleeding. Halt scanned her again for any other problems (he noted what looked like a nasty fracture on one of her ribs, if the mottled black-and-blue bruises were any indication) and, content that the unknown person was stable for the time being, turned to head back to the kitchen. He'd yet to have his morning coffee.

Perhaps he tilted his head just the right way, or the wind that ruffled the curtains nudged the fabric in just the right direction, but out of the corner of his eye, Halt saw a gleam of sunlight reflecting off of polished metal. Once he knew what to look for, it was easy to spot- a bronze chain hung around her neck, tangled in blood-soaked brown hair. He tugged the necklace gently, not wishing to wake the stranger, and he knew what it was just by the particular feel of the metal, but Halt had to be sure, so he tugged the chain again, and-

A pendant slid out from under her shirt.

A bronze oakleaf.

Halt wouldn't go as far as to say he disliked mysteries. A Ranger's life was full of mysteries. But mysteries like the one at hand were really just infuriating- he had information, and a stranger who would surely know the missing piece of the puzzle. The answer was just barely out of his reach, all because the woman wouldn't wake up.

He'd made himself coffee, filled the barrel with water for the day, chopped firewood, swept out the house and even polished the silverware and still she was unmoving- to the untrained eye she might appear to be dead, but he could make out the shallow rise-and-fall of her chest as she drew breath.

So, with nothing left to do, he waited.

The sun was inching down behind the trees, the dappled rays of light and shadow forming strange patterns on the ground. In the distance, Castle Redmont shone with a faint rust-red glow, the slanted rays catching on old ironstone walls and turrets. The noise that swelled and dipped on the wind from Wensley Village had begun to fade, in turn being drowned out by the more immediate chirping of crickets and trills of the occasional bird perched in the tall pines.

Halt sat in a chair on the verandah, a third cup of coffee held in one hand, and a silver oakleaf pendant held in the other. In his mind, the Ranger went through all he knew about the stranger once more, hoping there'd been something he'd missed. He held her oakleaf, her badge of office, in his hand, but that within itself was another mystery- if she was indeed a Ranger, where was her cloak, her weapons? More than likely she was a petty thief (he said petty even knowing the amount of skill required to steal from a Ranger) who had managed to get her hands on something shiny.

The wooden door separating the house from the verandah creaked open, and Halt raised an eyebrow as the mystery in question collapsed in the second chair, clutching her side with a groan. She'd cleaned herself off, he noticed- the dirt from her skin and hair was gone. She was fair, with dark blond hair under the layer of dirt and grime.

She was also not the sharpest knife in the drawer, apparently.

"Why are you moving around?" he asked bluntly. "You're making things worse."

She glared at Halt, her eyes darting from him to the oakleaf clasped in his hand. "That is my oakleaf. You had no right to take it. I want it returned."

Her voice was light and lilting, with a moderate accent- sharp vowels and an unvoiced "th" sound that followed sharp 't's and 'c's.

Halt placed the accent immediately. "You come from Sonderland."

It was obvious now- the light hair, blue eyes and fair skin. All traits of the people who populated the islands of Sonderland.

She clicked her tongue dismissively. "Not important. Give me my oakleaf back." Her hand darted across the gap between them, closing in on the chain- only to have Halt yank it away before she could grab it.

"I believe you have some explaining to do first," He snapped, steely eyes narrowing with distrust. "What's your name? What happened to you? Why do you have this," he held up the pendant, and the bronze chain swung from side to side, gleaming in the dwindling light, "And how in heaven and hell did a /Sonderlandic girl/ manage to get here in the first place?"

She made a strange noise- almost like the "tsk" noise a mother would use when scolding a child- and leaned back against the rough pine of the chair. Halt had figured she'd be expecting questions- keeping the oakleaf was working as planned; as a bartering tool to have her answering them.

"Briet," The word was quick and sharp, two syllables blending into one and spat out of her mouth as if it were poison.

Halt blinked rapidly, a minute sign of confusion. "What?"

"Briet," She said again, louder, looking to him as though he should understand what she was saying. He spoke many languages, but Sonderlandic was not one of them. Halt gave an exaggerated nod, and said slowly, as if speaking to a toddler or someone quite insane, "I heard you, and I said, 'What'."

Now it was her turn to raise her eyebrow, in a mockery of his greeting to her when she'd stumbled through the door onto the porch. She didn't say anything, rather, turning away from Halt and adjusting her position on the chair.

"You," She said after a minute, staring out into the dusky pink sky, "Are daft."

He blinked again, unsure that he'd heard her correctly. The woman who tried to walk outside after being saved from bleeding to death not five hours ago was calling him daft? His bewildered silence lasted almost a full minute, until the woman turned to him, contempt and dismissal in her eyes.

"You do not remember the question you asked of me not five minutes ago?" She snapped, sitting up, one hand clutching her side and the other gripping the armrest for support. He noted in the calm, rational part of his mind that her accent became more pronounced when she was angry.

"Yes, and I don't speak Sonderlandic!" Halt nearly yelled, losing his patience after waiting nearly five hours for her to wake up, only to hear riddle-speak and Sonderlandic pointlessness.

"You do not have to speak a language to understand a _name_," the stranger, now known as Briet, hissed back.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers, heavily calloused after years of manual labor and weapons training, and shut his eyes with a sigh.

"It would help," He said slowly, in a dangerously low voice, "To explain yourself when giving information."

Briet made the strange noise again, like 'tsk' but with a rounded 'k'. "Your stupidity is not my burden." She scoffed. "Now, I will tell, and you will be quiet, yes?"

She didn't let him answer, instead launching off into answering his questions.

"Skandians. Coastal raid along the edges of Deepwater Fief. Battleaxes. It broke my bow clean in two." She looked slightly rueful at this statement. "Knives were stuck in the brute's arm, not like they were going to do me much use anyway- and then... well. I was not fast enough." She gestured down at her bandaged midsection. "They left me, thought I would die, and I started through the forest because I knew Redmont Fief was southeast."

Halt started to ask something, but didn't get past the first syllable before Briet held up a hand.

"No," She said firmly. "You had two questions more. About that-" She pointed to the bronze oakleaf, "And about my heritage."

"The oakleaf; Cynric of Caraway gave to me two years into my apprenticeship. And yes," she met Halt's eyes with her own, an unspoken challenge in her stare. "I am Sonderlandic. On my mother's side. Araluen on my father's. Now, give me my oakleaf back."

Halt sighed, reluctantly handing her the pendant. He looked around, noticing for the first time that night had all but fallen.

"Inside," he grunted, standing up and stretching. Briet stood as well, her balance slightly off and each step accompanied by a quick intake of breath. She was in pain, obviously, but when he held out a hand in an offer for help, she ignored him.

There was still so much he wanted to know, and Halt went to bed with questions fluttering around his mind. He decided to ask her tomorrow.

When he woke, she was gone.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: This timeskips a fair amount of time, and despite the opening sentences, Halt doesn't recognize her (yet). Her condition will be explained as time goes on, but for now it's a mystery that everyone wants to solve. Yippee!

Halt never expected to see her again.

At least this time, he didn't break any rules saving her life.

He was doing his usual weekly rounds around Selsey, a quiet coastal village just off Redmont Fief's western border. Not that Halt particularly wanted to have the responsibility of watching over the sleepy town, but being the closest Ranger to the area meant he had no choice in the matter.

It was a dreary morning- the near-constant drizzle that had accompanied him for the last few hours was fading fast, leaving behind a mist that clung to the treetops, hazy in the morning light. Occasional patches of sun burst through the cloud layer, breaking the montonomy of grey for just a few seconds before disappearing again.

The village was soon behind him, as Halt continued down the shore- He always traveled at least a half-mile in either direction, just to be sure there'd be no trouble in the week between his visits. The sound of his horse's hooves sinking into the soft ground, and the rolling, splashing rhythm of waves against the shoreline formed a sort of discordant beat in the backround. There was a faint breeze, tasting of salt and bringing with it the coolness from the sea.

He continued to be on his guard, eyes scanning the distant line of forestry and the open ocean in a seemingly random pattern. An average citizen would brand him as paranoid- and maybe he was, but no more so than any other Ranger. He and his fellow craftmasters lived by a simple rule: "If you're not looking for danger, chances are you won't see it until it's too late." Countless times in the past those words had proved true. And so, even in a town like Selsey, Halt was wary and alert.

He had Abelard, his horse- trained to pick up even the slightest unnatural sound or smell, and discreetly alert his rider. But always counting on his horse to warn him was another thing Rangers would never do- their steeds weren't perfect, and two pairs of eyes were always going to be better than one.

It was this constant state of readiness paired with some sort of uncanny sixth sense Rangers tended to develop that led Halt to stop his horse suddenly in it's tracks. There was a jumbled mass of gray cloth, lying half in the water, a ways down the beach.

He slid out of the saddle easily, motioning for Abelard to wait for him in the shelter of a collection of rocks. There was a slight twinge of doubt; that maybe this _thing_ on the shore was a distraction, a ploy to grab his attention and allow an attacker to catch him unawares. (He also thought for a moment that maybe he truly was paranoid- but that was a problem for another day).

Halt approached the jumble of cloth and seaweed cautiously, dropping down onto one knee in the sand and tugging the sandy gray fabric away.

And in an entirely un-Halt-like moment, he cursed. Loudly.

Because staring up at him, icy blue, glassy and lifeless, were the eyes of a girl.

Her face was gaunt and sallow, the skin stretched tightly over her bones. She was cold, with lips swollen a frigid purple-blue. Halt unraveled her from the grey cloth (it looked to be some sort of crudely made cloak) and searched for a pulse. There- a slow, fluttering beat. She was alive. He didn't know if that was good or bad.

He cursed again.

With this new twist came the problem of what exactly he was going to do with her. Leaving her with the villagers here didn't seem like an option- Halt doubted anyone brought in by the likes of him would be treated with anything more than distrust. Sometimes, he had to admit, the reputation of the Rangers was more a hindrance than a help.

Bringing her back to his cabin wasn't an option either- he only had Abelard, deciding that bringing a pack pony on a (what he thought would be) short and uneventful trip was unnecessary. In the near-death condition she was in, he somehow doubted she'd manage to stay in the saddle. He wasn't going to leave her here- figuring out what had happened to her was important, and as cold as Halt was, he wasn't heartless.

That left one option- he'd have to camp for a day or two with the small amount of emergency supplies he had.

Great.

Halt grudgingly had to admit he had a certain weakness for unsolved puzzles- most Rangers did. After all, it was in their trade to gather information, and opportunities to do so were (usually) few and far between, at least with the current state of peace the country was enjoying.

Naturally, his curiosity was raised by the current riddle presented to him- the girl. Currently, she lay unmoving besides the shallow rise-and-fall of her chest, inside his sleeping roll and wrapped in his cloak. The dangerously gray-blue pallor of her skin had receded after he'd managed to peel her sodden clothes from her body. It was horrifying, really, to see just how bone-thin the girl was. He supposed maybe she'd been pretty at one point, but that would have been long ago. Now, she only looked cold, small and tired.

After unsaddling and briefly rubbing down Abelard, he started looking around the makeshift campsite. searching for dry wood to use to make a fire. There wasn't much- the rainfall from earlier had made things damp and soggy. At first, Halt was reluctant to stray too far from the camp; without another able-bodied person to keep watch, he was afraid the girl would try to run away if she woke up- but remembering how skinny and ragged she looked, he reconsidered.

Halt's decision ended up being a good one; he located a trickling freshwater stream maybe a half-mile away, which would save him from buying water from any vendors in Selsey. A dense thicket of brambles and shrubbery proved to be a good source of firewood, having been protected from the rain by a tall pine that stood proudly above it. Content with what he'd found, he headed back to the campsite. Starting the fire was easy enough, and Halt busied himself with unpacking the emergency supplies he carried, setting to work on making some sort of broth or stew from the hard rations in his pack.

He figured it was the smell of the smoked beef as it simmered in the water that woke her. Or maybe the sharp crackling of the fire. Either way, she shifted in the sleeping roll, trying to sit up. She couldn't manage it, however, and fell back onto her forearms. Great, racking coughs shook her frail body- it only made sense she'd have inhaled at least some seawater. The coughing faded away after a few minutes, and she looked around. The fear in her eyes was obvious- it was a childish sort of fear, too, which was a little disconcerting.

"Where am I?" The girl rasped- her voice sounded like sandpaper. The question was followed by another bout of coughing.

"Safe." Halt replied gruffly- he wasn't very good at appearing kind or harmless. Probably because he was neither.

She looked much like a cornered animal, eyes darting from side to side, looking for a way out. When Halt scooped a little of the broth into a bowl and started towards her, she scrambled back as best she could, looking up at him fearfully.

"Relax," He snapped, his patience already thin- if not for her, he'd be back in his cabin by now. Kneeling down to her level, he extended his arm slowly, bowl in hand. She still flinched, but after a few seconds, she must've realized he had no intention of hurting her.

"I have food for you. And water. But first I need to know who you are." He tried his best to speak calm and slow, realizing now that the cornered animal comparison was more than accurate- any sudden movements or sounds were likely to set her off again.

She looked up at him with those unnervingly ice-blue eyes, brow slightly furrowed. The look of confusion slowly disappeared, and her pupils began to dilate in fear- no, absolute terror. The color she'd gained from the warmth of the cloak was quickly disappearing. The seconds dragged on, but she didn't answer him- her lips were moving faintly, but no sound could be heard.

When she finally did answer, it was nothing more than a breath- a near-silent whisper that even Halt had to strain to pick up.

"I don't know."


End file.
